


Miracle

by lillyofthevally



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Its ok though Peter is Here To Help, M/M, Makeup Sex, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, The General Marcus TW, excessive use of tomas as an interchangeable vessel of god's love, healingTM, idk casual paganism, like get ready to toast my pals, marcus centric, marcus fulfilling his paternal dreams, maybe internalized homophobia/biphobia from tomas I haven't decided how I'm playing that, mouse not written as a Gentle Person, self destructive behavior, she goes hard why are you all acting like she's not going to wreck tomas, this is a tomarcus fic but peter features heavily in the early chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyofthevally/pseuds/lillyofthevally
Summary: "Marcus had a habit of running away from what he loved. He was actually quite good at it by this point, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt every time."Set after S2, detailing Marcus' recovery and his search for Tomas.





	1. Somebody Nobody Wants (Dion)

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy it's me again posting some long ass exorcist fic to fill the gaping void in my soul. This one is set solidly after S2 and will deal with some nasty subjects like Marcus' past self harm/suicidal thoughts and it may also deal with Tomas' internalized homophobia/biphobia. I'm writing them both as bisexual just so you guys are aware going in, Marcus is going to be with Peter in the beginning chapters but I promise there will be lots of quality Tomas/Marcus once they are reunited. I'll be including Spanish in some of my dialog, it's my second language so if I get anything wrong leave a comment and I'll do my best to correct it. Happy reading spooky friends. 
> 
> (The fic itself is named after Miracle by James Ray, the song playing when Tomas and Marcus met, I highly recommend giving it a listen.)

 

 

Marcus had a habit of running away from what he loved. He was actually quite good at it by this point, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him every time. Marcus had decided, long ago, that pain was worth it if he could keep what he loved safe. The look on Tomas’ face almost broke his habit. As he walked out the door he could feel Tomas’ eyes follow him and he wished, for a desperate moment, that Tomas would come after him and pull him back. Put his arms back around his neck and sigh into his throat again. But Tomas stayed frozen in the hotel room, and Marcus ran.

The cold air hit him squarely in the face and he inhaled sharply. It tasted like moisture and brine and the sea. It tasted like home. Mouse leaned against their truck, Tomas’ now, and watched him. She is a reminder of why he is making this choice, why he _needs_ to make this choice. It would save Tomas, just like it saved Mouse. He hoped. God he hoped.

The little voice in the back of his head laughed and whispered that he hadn’t saved mouse, _look at her_ , she wasn’t better for his abandonment. She had held a gun to a good man’s head. However necessary or unavoidable that death may have been, his church mouse was a different animal. The light he had seen in her as a young man was still there, but now it burned beyond bound; consuming everything in the pursuit of its goal.

He didn’t say enough to mouse when he walked past her, one day maybe they would meet again, when he was a better man. The sort that could apologize for his actions without being crushed with grief. As it was he could only ask that she take care of Tomas, don’t let him drive, don’t let him get lost. He wanted to beg her, to press into her heart how gentle Tomas was. She had called Tomas a weapon, and that thought made Marcus ill. Tomas was not a sword, he was a lantern in the dark. Warm and bright, guiding the lost home. But there was no one to guide Tomas, she had to be his guide now.

Marcus didn’t look back. He felt like Orpheus, returning from hades empty handed and broken hearted. Marcus walked as far as he could, until he was well and truly lost, before calling Peter. He didn’t ask questions, and Marcus was almost weak kneed with gratitude for that.

Peter lived in an apartment off of Capitol Hill with a cat he lovingly introduced as Sergey and a dog he called Lola. Sergey was scrappy and lean, with a milky eye and missing teeth, Peter told Marcus he had found the cat hiding behind a dumpster down by _Iver’s,_ living off the scraps. He made some joke about the cat having good taste that Marcus didn’t understand, but laughed along with anyway.

Lola was from California, her parents hadn’t been able to take her with them when they moved out of the state because of her Pitbull blood and so Peter took her. She was a round mutt, with a sweet jowly face and big doe eyes. Peter told Marcus all this while he bustled around the apartment, pulling out the sofa bed and the extra linens. For his part Marcus stayed backed against the bathroom door, nodding when appropriate, but otherwise letting Peter talk. Finally Peter slowed down, turning to look at Marcus, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes were the soft grey of the sea when they met, full of pity instead of salt.   

“You can stay as long as you need, no strings, I work long hours so I’m sure Lola will appreciate the company.” He paused, rubbing at his scruff, “I meant what I said in the car, but you don’t have to tell me what happened, I heard about Andy and the kids. I’m still not one hundred percent on how you fit into all that, but I promise I won’t ask and you don’t need to tell me. I still have that bottle of bourbon if you do need to talk. I won’t judge you, and I won’t kick you out, and… well we don’t have to continue anything we started. if you’re not comfortable with that, I mean. But if you want to, I’m open to it.” Peter paused, taking a few seconds to gauge Marcus’ response, whatever he saw there must have been enough because he nodded and continued.  

“I’ll leave you to settle in, I have a quick run down to the office I need to do before I’m done for the night, so if you could feed the beasts that would be amazing. Their food is up in the cabinet above the toaster, make sure to put it back once you’re done or Sergey will chew a hole and eat himself to death. I’ll be back in a few hours, alright?”  It took Marcus too long after Peter stopped talking to realize that he was supposed to respond and by the time he was nodding to his scuffed boots Peter had ducked out the front door, leaving Marcus alone with the animals.

Marcus stayed pressed against the counter for a long time, organizing the tasks he needed to complete into simple lists. It wasn’t a long list, but Marcus turned it over and over in his mind until the tasks had gone round and meaningless. First Marcus put his backpack on the floor, kicking it under the pullout couch so that Lola wouldn’t trip over it. Second, he went to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Third he put his hands under the scalding spray and counted to twenty. For the first four seconds his hands didn’t know that the water was burning and the last sixteen that’s all they knew. Fourth he pulled his hands out from under the water he could almost imagine that they tingled with gods power instead of pain. They were red and smarting but not properly burnt. Fifth he ran them under cool water for a few seconds before toweling them off. He braised his arms against the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked scruffy and tired, the yellow light from the wall fixtures carving out the hollows under his eyes and making his cheekbones sharp and angular. He didn’t look like someone who belonged in this nice clean bathroom, in this nice clean apartment, with a nice clean man. He looked like someone who should be sleeping under a bridge. He wondered if Peter would look for him, if anyone would, or if he could just slip away. He didn’t belong here, he didn’t deserve to be here. Mind made up Marcus straightened up.   

He turned to find Lola watching him from the door, smiling a big dog smile. Her eyes were wide and sincere. Marcus winced as he realized he had forgotten that he was meant to be feeding her and Sergey. He wasn’t used to caring for himself, let alone anything else. He hadn’t had to in the last six months, not with Tomas. Marcus crouched down to greet Lola and she licked at his fingers. Marcus rubbed a thumb across her wrinkled forehead.

“just you and me, huh girl?” he said softly. He would wait to leave, at least until Peter came back, he at least owed him a goodbye. So he was left with several empty hours to himself.

 Marcus straightened up and circled the room, touching everything he could. Lola moved along behind him, watching him curiously. There were shells on the mantelpiece, and a framed anatomical print of various types of seaweed above it. Marcus ran his thumb over the sharp edge of the shell. He remembered, as a kid, doing the same thing the few times his mother had brought him to the seaside. He had held the shell to his ear and heard his heart and lungs and blood all struggling to keep him alive. He had sat on a rock for almost an hour listening to his body work marveling at the miracle of it. The sunlight was warm on his face and he felt more at peace than he could remember. That had been a long time ago and even that happy memory was tinged with the darkness of what had happened a few months later.    

Marcus moved on the book shelf, scanning quickly over the titles. Most were scientific texts with a few bound collections of _National Geographic_ and _Pacific Tides_ but at the bottom of the shelf there was a worn copy of _Peter Rabbit_. Marcus tapped the spine with his finger. It was cloth bound, with embossed guilt letters, despite its age it was beautiful and clearly well loved. Someone had gone and dog-eared almost every page. Maybe it was just an old book Peter had picked up, or a used gift, but Marcus liked to imagine it was a relic from Peter’s childhood. He almost chuckled to himself at the idea of Peter imagining himself as a tiny brown rabbit.

 Marcus considered, for a moment, opening the only other door in the room. He knew it led to Peter’s bedroom and that was a line even he wasn’t willing to cross, especially under Sergey’s watchful glare from the kitchen counter.

He went through Peter’s fridge next, gently pushing the patchy tom out of the way so that he could reach the shelves beside it too. He automatically pulled out the ingredients for a simple stir-fry. Marcus had learned the recipe from the mother of a pair of twins he had performed an exorcism on a few years back, and it remained one of his favorite things to cook whenever he had the chance. It took him about twenty minutes to slice the unions and peppers and the slightly wrinkled, but still good, mushrooms and mix together the sauce. The unions made Marcus’ eyes smart and water and if the knife he was using to cut them slipped perhaps a few more times than it should, nicking his fingers, that was nobody’s business but his.   

It took a few minutes for Marcus to find a pot and pasta, interrupted half way through his search by Sergey howling in front of the toaster when Marcus accidentally opened the cabinet with his food. Marcus gently pushed the screaming cat down from the counter with a whispered apology, finally spotting a pot drying beside the sink. Marcus found a skillet at last and switched on the stove.

He left it to heat while he pulled out the food and poured it into the two bowls. Peter hadn’t been kidding about Sergey’s apatite, the cat was winding hopefully between his legs before Marcus had even finished putting the food bag away. Once that was done the pan had finished heating so Marcus added in the unions and red peppers, keeping the rest at his elbow to add in once the unions got going. He was so caught up in the familiar ritual of stirring, adjusting the heat, smothering the pan in sesame oil, that he didn’t notice Peter pad into the room. It was only as Marcus turned to strain the pasta that he noticed Peter leaning against the wall.

“welcome home dear, soups on.” Marcus said, hoisting the pot. Peter chuckled.

“I know that was meant to be sarcastic,” he said “but it’s not every day I get to come home to a handsome man in my kitchen, and honestly that smells divine. Anything I can do to help you finish up?”

“no, thank you love, just stand there and look pretty.” Marcus winked and walked past Peter to the sink, pulling the strainer out of the drying rack and dumping the pasta in unceremoniously.  Peter came to stand at Marcus’ elbow and peer over his shoulder.

“does this mean I have to do all the dishes?” he asked.

“oh definitely.”  Marcus said.

Dinner was quiet and pleasant. Peter told Marcus about his work, the restoration job he was helping with, over at Gasworks park. He didn’t ask Marcus anything about the last few weeks but when he asked if Marcus preferred Gasworks or Alki Marcus grudgingly admitted that he didn’t actually know what either of those were, he hadn’t seen much besides the island and the ferry. Peter looked practically scandalized.    

“I take Lola jogging to Gasworks at least once a week, its beautiful, you would love it.” Peter said, leaning across the table towards Marcus, as though pressed forward with his sincerity. Marcus felt guilt settle like a knife between his ribs. He needed to tell peter he was going, he didn’t deserve this.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a jogger.” Marcus said weakly, gesturing to his leather jacket and jeans. “not really my style, can’t ruin that air of effortless mystery.”

“it’s good for flying kites too, we could just go for a picnic. Lola is getting older, I’m sure she would appreciate a lazy day.”  

Peter’s face was so open and excited, like he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend an afternoon off than sitting with Marcus in the park he was helping to restore. Marcus felt sick.

“That sounds lovely Peter.” He said. He could stay a few more days, he didn’t deserve it but Peter did. He was a good man.

Peter and Marcus ended up doing the dishes together, even though Peter protested. Once dinner was cleared away he presented Marcus with a white plastic CVS bag full of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a fresh razor and some deodorant. Marcus raised an eyebrow at Peter.

“is this a hint? Are you saying I smell?” Peter laughed.

“let’s just say you’re welcome to my shower.” He said, “In fact, I insist.”

Marcus flipped him off good naturedly. Peter grinned, taking that as a yes.

“Good, I’ll to take Lola out for a pee while you do that, and then I’m heading to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow to help some of my coworkers on a survey of starfish population in the tide flats.” Catching Marcus’ look Peter rolled his eyes, “It’s much more interesting than it sounds, I swear. We have to catch the low tide at a truly ungodly hour. I’ll leave a spare key in the dish by the door, if you want to go out. If you could take Lola out for a pee a few times that would be amazing, I’ll fill their bowls before I leave and I shouldn’t be back too late.” Peter nodded, like that was all decided then, and went to grab Lola’s leash from the coat hook by the door.

Marcus headed to the shower once Peter left. He didn’t shower for very long, as a rule, especially lately. his thoughts had been wandering when the hot water hit his skin, to Tomas mostly, and he couldn’t stand that tonight. He kept the water as cold as he could stand it and scrubbed his skin until the grime of the exorcism had been erased. He was still covered in a map of bruises and little cuts but nothing severe, they stung when he scrubbed soap across them. Marcus scrubbed harder.

He switched the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist, brushed his teeth, but left the razor in its packaging. It was only after this that Marcus realized he hadn’t brought a clean change of clothes into the bathroom. He cursed softly and held the towel in one hand, opening the door to find his bag and the clean (ish) clothes it contained.

Instead he was greeted by a t-shirt and a pair of flannel night pants that Peter had laid out for him. The guilt knife twisted deeper. Marcus grabbed the clothes and changed quickly, resolving to go shopping or at least find a laundry mat the next day. The pull-out bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but it certainly wasn’t the worst place he had slept in his life. Marcus lay down on his side facing the door, old habits and all that. He was startled out of the beginnings of sleep when he felt Sergey leap up next to him and curl up against his back. The cat was a warm little ball, anchoring him to the bed.

Before he closed his eyes, Marcus whispered a prayer for Tomas and Mouse, asking god to keep them safe where he couldn’t. the dream came to Marcus in phases, so gradually he didn’t even realize he was falling asleep, let alone dreaming.

Time played backwards in his mind until he was standing in front of Tomas in that cabin room, begging him not to let the demon in. He couldn’t stand to lose Tomas, he couldn’t. time played forward and Marcus relived Tomas crouching beside Andy, taking the demon into himself. This was where the dream diverged from memory. Tomas arched backwards, the muscles in his neck rigid with pain. He grew second pupils and then thirds and then more until his eyes were so tightly packed with iris’ Marcus couldn’t find Tomas’ familiar ones in amongst the yellow.

Marcus was begging, he could hear his voice far away, screaming for Tomas. Tomas rose to his feet, black blood spilling between his teeth and into his beard. Tomas smiled.

“Marcus, mi hermano, ¿tienes miedo ahora?” Tomas asked, “Or are you still too blinded by your _faith_? God will not protect this boy, he is filthy, corrupt. He is good for nothing but _us_ now.” The demons laughed in Tomas’ voice, snarling and giggling like a rabid animal. Marcus wept, he was helpless with fear and grief for Tomas. He could not touch him, reach out to him, save him.

“you thought god wanted him, that he was the new pitcher into which gods light would flow. You foolish old man. God threw Tomas to you like trash into a bin. He was always tainted, just as you are. You are the only one who sees value in him, the only one who would _love him_.” the demon paused to giggle madly to itself, stroking a hand over tomas’ beard in a vile parody of the same gesture Marcus saw tomas do every day, “and still this bastard boy won’t love you back. Follow your orders like a trained dog, sure, but _never_ love you. Not like you want.  You left him alone in that hotel room with your other _mistake._ You simply can’t keep your dick away from the nice pure ones can you. Does it make your little bishop excited that only you and god will touch them? If only it was just your dick. Can’t you see, old grey lion, that your love ruins people. It ruined this boy. So what’s the use? In saving him? Keeping him alive? Why don’t I just…” Tomas’ neck twisted, popped, snapped. The demon laughed. It echoed through Marcus’ head a thousand times over, the snap and laughter blending together into a sickening cacophony that drowned out Marcus’ own frantic shouts and sobs.

Marcus woke with a violent start, jackknifing up in bed, knocking his forehead someone’s nose. They both leaned back quickly, panic still pulsing through Marcus’ chest. The someone, Peter, pressed a hand to his nose and it came away dark and slick. The only light in the room came from the bathroom where the door stood slightly ajar. Peter had a washcloth in his hand and two glasses of water resting by his elbow on the coffee table.       

Marcus’ face was sticky and cold with tears, the salt drying in itchy lines down his cheeks. Peter must have been trying to wipe them away and wake him up gradually. Marcus rubbed at the tears before Peter could try again. He didn’t know if he could trust himself to talk. Peter pressed the washcloth against his nose and tipped his head back with a grunt.

Marcus put his elbows on his knees and tried to breath. It felt like a hand was pressed against his chest, keeping the air inside. Eventually he felt something small and warm thump onto his back. Sergey circled several times across Marcus’ shoulder, pricking his claws into Marcus skin, before settling around Marcus’ neck. Marcus rubbed the cat’s head. He still felt half lost in the dream but the warm weight against his neck was familiar. Like tomas’ hand. Marcus ached for him, for leaving him, for not being the man that tomas needed him to be. He should have saved Andy, he was an exorcist, and he couldn’t even save one soul. Useless. Marcus choked on a sob.

“I’m sorry.” He gasped, “I’m so sorry.” whether the apology was directed at peter or tomas or god even he didn’t know. Marcus felt a warm arm come around his shoulders, a broad hand pressing against his chest to help regulate his frantic breaths. Peter made soft shushing noises and rubbed in calming circles.

“It’s alright” he said, “It’s all going to be alright.”

Marcus was sure of nothing but the fact that it was not, as peter said, going to be all right.  

 


	2. Take Good Care of my Baby (Dion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is accompanied by the truly appropriate song "Take Good Care of my Baby" by Dion, I'd highly recommend giving it a listen or playing it as you read.

Tomas and Mouse sleep in different rooms. They adjoin but might as well be on different continents, he sees her only when they have work. They had been looking for bennet since they left the hospital in Seattle. An orderly had been neatly beheaded and he had disappeared, the security footage was a mess of misplaced images and static. Something about it made Tomas’ stomach churn, like those blurry videos of accidents they show on late night news programs. Something felt wrong, but Mouse left no room for argument. Her reality was the only one, and in that reality bennet was alive, kidnapped by the demons from the Vatican. His rescue was part of her mission, along with taking down the demons that had taken him; Tomas’ mission now too, he supposed.  Mouse didn’t really like to talk about the details of that plan and Tomas was getting the sickening impression that there might not be any. She seemed to know where she was going, at any rate. On the drive to the town in northern California where they were currently staying Tomas tried to make conversation. About thirty minutes in, when he asked her how she knew Marcus she had pulled the truck over and stared at him. She didn’t say anything, just looked. Tomas squirmed. Finally he asked,

“what’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to see what he saw in you. Why you were worth all this.” She jerked her chin to indicate the empty road, the black night, the both of them, alone.

“you have power, but so did I, it was more than that for you.” She sighed and looked away, pulling back onto the road. They drove for another two hours in silence before Mouse pulled off into the parking lot of a hotel. It was one of those generic chain brands where if you’ve been in one room you can imagine every single other one across the country. The desk clerk didn’t bat an eye at him, still in his collar, checking in with Mouse. Tomas had stayed in one of these rooms before with Marcus, after an exorcism in Wyoming. They both were so tired they had taken whatever room was available. It was a single with mold in the sink and a faded _something_ splashed across the sealing. They slept on different sides of the bed, but tomas could still remember the comforting rhythm of Marcus’ breath lulling him to sleep.  

Maybe the separate rooms were for the best, because that night Tomas dreamt of Marcus. He had braced for nightmares, Marcus tall and thin and vicious looming over Tomas in his dark hat and demon’s eyes. He did not have nightmares.

The dream was soft, faded at the edges, the familiarity of it settling warm around Tomas like a memory. Tomas was wrapped in a hotel room quilt, wearing his old baseball T-shirt and a pair of boxers, the light slanting through the window spoke of a fresh sun just clipping over the horizon. Tomas rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. Across the room Marcus was hunched over the stove in an undershirt and old rumpled jeans. He was singing softly to himself and swaying side to side. The light haloed around Marcus’ short cropped hair and spread like butter across his shoulder blades under the worn shirt. 

“-make sure your thinking of me, everything you say and do” Marcus sang, dragging out the ‘o’ into a breathy huff, laughing at himself, before continuing,

“take good care of my bay-bee, now don’t you ever make him cry, just let your love surround him and paint a rainbow all around him,” Tomas didn’t remember moving, but he was standing just a few feet behind Marcus, the cold linoleum floor soaking up through his feet.

“don’t let him see a cloud in the sky. Once upon a time that gentleman was mine. if I’d been true, I know he’d never be with you.” He wanted to call out to Marcus, to ask him what he was making, if he was ok, if he missed him. But before he could say anything Marcus had turned around and settled his hands on Tomas’ hips. Marcus pecked Tomas on the forehead and sang, off-key, into his ear,

“so, take good care of my bay-bee, be as kind as you can be, and if you should discover that you don’t really love him, just let him come back home to me.” Marcus exhaled against Tomas’ neck and Tomas closed his eyes. He felt impossibly warm, not the hot prickle of sun burning his skin, but the permeating warmth and comfort of a fire on a cold day. Marcus lips, when they pressed against his, felt like an extension of that fire. _A pitcher,_ Tomas thought distantly, _Marcus said he was a pitcher, full of god’s love, and now he’s pouring into me._ Tomas wrapped a palm around the back of Marcus’ throat, anchoring himself as Marcus’ stubble dragged over his chin and bottom lip.

 In the dream time stretched, languid as a cat in the morning, pulling the kiss out and out until each touch, each drag of fingers across jaws, of lips against lips, and breaths against skin turned into its own single concept. They were unconnected, fragmented ideas of what this could have been. In the dream Tomas was bold, he pressed up into the kiss, egged Marcus on with his teeth, laughed when Marcus stepped on his toes as the backed out of the kitchen. Sometime between the kitchen and the mattress the song that Marcus had been singing began to play, swelling up around them, and making Marcus mouth the words into Tomas’ throat. Tomas laugh was overtaken by a moan when Marcus slid his fingers under the waistband of Tomas’ boxers, grabbing his hips and pulling them both together.

“Marcus.” he gasped into Marcus’ mouth, feeling his fingers tighten around Tomas’ hips like he expected him to pull away.

“Tomás,” Marcus said, “Tomas!”

Tomas jerked awake. The radio beside his bed was on, blaring 60’s pop like it was going out of style. Tomas groaned and slapped at the off button. He was sprawled out on his stomach, his dick trapped uncomfortably between him and the cheap mattress. He went to sit up, only getting half way before a sharp throat clearing had him frantically scanning the room for the source. Mouse was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, glaring at him. Tomas quickly dragged the thin hotel blanket across his lap, realizing only belatedly that wasn’t the _most_ subtle way to say ‘hey I wasn’t having a wet dream about your ex’. Tomas winced. Mouse made very deliberate eye contact as she said,

“your radio was on.”

Tomas rubbed a hand across his beard, going for sheepish and ending up closer to guilty,

“Ah yes, thank you, I noticed that. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to wake you.”

“Sounded like I should be the one apologizing, quite the dream you were having before I interrupted.” Mouse said, her voice was cold and sharp, making Tomas recoil slightly. She turned on her heel and disappeared back through the hallway that connected their rooms. Tomas rubbed his face. He felt like shit. Any arousal he had woken up with was long gone, and with it the warm comfort of the dream. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all. Tomas dragged himself off the mattress and into the shower.  

They checked out at nine and loaded their few bags into the truck bed. Tomas expected them to head to the highway entrance immediately but Mouse passed the turn, instead pulling into a half empty Ihop parking lot. She threw the truck into park with a shuddering wheeze and slammed out before Tomas even had his seatbelt undone. He found her inside, waiting impatiently to be seated, sending pointed glares at the half a dozen empty tables waiting to be filled. Finally a server came over and sat them at one of the booths by the window. She smiled pleasantly at Tomas, but shot Mouse a slightly suspicious look before bustling off. The Ihop was full of an interesting mix of veterans, service workers just starting their day, and retirees with their sticky grandchildren practically vibrating in their seats. A woman in a neat, if dated, blazer sat in the booth in front of theirs with her son. They were laughing about something, the little boy gesturing animatedly every few words, putting every bottle and menu on the table at risk. For a moment, all Tomas could see was Louis and Olivia. He missed them fiercely.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of their server, note pad in one hand and coffee pot in the other. Tomas had been too preoccupied with memories of home to look at the menu so he ordered eggs and toast with a side of bacon. The waitress jotted it down and smiled at him. Mouse, on the other hand, seemed to not even need the menu. She quickly rattled off her order of blue berry and chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and a side of hash browns without pausing to so much as breath. The server looked like she might object but one sharp look from Mouse had her scuttling away. They waited for their food in silence while Tomas carefully sipped his coffee. It wasn’t very good but the head of it sliding down his throat filled him with a nostalgic comfort. Mouse hadn’t touched her own cup, she was staring straight over Tomas’ shoulder but didn’t seem to see anything at all. The waiter returned with Tomas’ plate first, putting it down with a smile and a soft,

“here you go father.” Tomas had forgotten he was wearing his collar. He smiled back at her and she left. Tomas picked up his fork and poked it into the edge of one of the eggs, it bled yellow across his plate. He looked up to find Mouse watching him.

“I need to get in contact with some people, and they wont like me showing up with company.” She said between bites of pancakes. Tomas frowned.  
“are you sure you want to go alone? Shouldn’t you bring backup? There are many demons still looking for us.”

“I can take care of myself.” Mouse paused, putting her fork down neatly beside her plate and meeting Tomas’ gaze with a stony glare, “I have been doing this since before you were in seminary, _father_. I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me, and I _really_ don’t need to babysit a halfwit priest too busy mooning over his lost master to pay attention, and _still_ keeps double checking my every action. I don’t need _you_ , Tomas, I need your power. We aren’t friends.” Mouse got to her feet, pulling two twenties out of her wallet and dropping them in a crumpled pile on the table top.

“Town is 10 minutes back the way we came, I’ll see you this afternoon. I don’t want to stay here too long.” She left without a goodbye, leaving Tomas to finish his breakfast, smile at the waitress, and begin the long walk back into town alone. As he walked Tomas wondered, idly, what road Marcus was wandering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this at 1 am so I'll edit it tomorrow, but here you go! Leave me some kisses and hugs in the comments, next weeks chapter is titled "Just Cause We Got Us" by Gerry Granahan


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